Zela Marshall has always been the good quiet sweet little church girl with perfect grades from a perfect military family but as she blows out the candles on her 18th birthday cake there is only one thing on her mind: Growing up and getting out!
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BookWarnings: This chapter, book, and all future books in the series may contain adult themes such as: Sex/ Sexual Themes Drug Use Alcohol Consumption Abuse (consensual & Non-consensual) Age Gaps Poly/Multi-Partner Relationship Reverse Harems BDSM Body Image (Euphoria & dysphoria) Read at your own discretion.
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When I turned 17, my top priority was to "grow up" and become independent as soon as possible. To me, true independence meant never having to ask my parents for money even though they were more than willing to provide it, with a cost. I hated the fact that they paid for my car, my senior dues, and my food. I only hated it because my father used it as a weapon to control what I did (or didn't get to do in most cases) and when I did it. It was his way of dictating my path in life and I desperately needed to break free. As a high schooler at the beginning of my last year, I had a shitty job slinging wheatgrass at a juice bar. I even got a grant to help cut the cost of schooling, but trying to live in Los Angeles wasn't cheap.
My meager income wasn't nearly enough to survive on my own let alone try to pry myself from under the thumb of my father, and it drove me nuts. He had always been a stern man and even throughout my childhood he rarely let me do anything.
My father ran a tight ship leaving little to no room for mistakes under his military thumb. This caused me to always be a pretty repressed young lady. I'd made perfect grades in school, kept respectable hobbies, went to teen bible study, and did whatever else kept our family seemingly picture-perfect. Not much had changed since my childhood. I still basically had to make a PowerPoint slide as to why I needed money for anything that wasn't a basic need and even with a good reason, I still had a high possibility of being told no and hearing a lecture. When I was a child I couldn't do much about it but as a newly forming adult, it slowly began to infuriate me leaving me feeling so infantilized and trapped.
Just after my 18th birthday, I saw an ad for an "amateur night" contest at a pretty popular strip club a few cities away from mine on social media. I had initially swiped away from the ad but it was something about the idea of exotic dancing that captivated my imagination. I was intrigued and I couldn't get the idea out of my head.
The amateur night was a few weeks away, so I slowly built up to the idea. Playing around with it. First I bought myself some 6-inch platform heels, light pink in color, using my juice bar money. I snuck them in the house as to not have to explain their existence to my parents. I practiced walking around my room in them for a few days, strengthening my ankles and confidence while wearing them.
Once I was feeling a little more secure I went and got myself a lacy lingerie set, something a little more risqué than Victoria Secret I had in the dresser. As soon as I'd bought the frilly thing from the mall I rushed home to try it on with the heels. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror for what could have been hours, analyzing every inch of my frame, and for a second I couldn't believe it was me looking back. I had always been a late bloomer, but when my body did begin to change it had done so overnight without my knowledge. It was like one night over the summer I'd gotten hips, ass, and breasts for a gift the next morning. I'd dropped almost all of my baby weight except in my hips and thighs giving me a nice shape. Cheerleading and high school gym class kept me fit, tummy flat. Every inch of me now felt accentuated by the red laced bra and panties, the heels made my legs look long and lean. I not only looked beautiful but I felt it too, I loved my body. Looking at myself in the mirror that night would bring to the surface a new part of me. Like a little devil resting on my shoulder, always whispering, baiting me into doing things I normally wouldn't do. It caused an intoxicating mix of exhilaration inside me for the amateur night. All the sneaking around I had done up to this point had left the taste of rebellion on my tongue and I wasn't ashamed to say I was hungry for more of it.
